Sparked
by pretty-apathy
Summary: Katniss and Peeta's son, Drew Mellark, has lived 17 years of peaceful life in the reformed Panem, until he comes across two strange girls with disturbing news. He must now fight to maintain everything his parents risked their lives for. Read and review!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hello people :3 not exactly sure exactly where this story is going, but I thought the prospect of Katniss and Peeta having children was just too enticing to not pursue in a story :D set when their baby boy is 17. Enjoy~**

Chapter One

I traced my feet gently across every tree root encroaching on my path, creating an entangled labyrinth of the simple, well-worn path. I heard stories of my mother following this same path, pursuing an escape from the post-apocalyptic monotony that plagued District 12 after she broke the system holding Panem together. Since the spark of her rebellion caught and she brought down the Capitol, the world seems to have a more optimistic future. However, occasionally a forgotten charred brick left behind by the Reconstruction will catch my eye and I am reminded that not long ago, Panem was a totalitarian abomination.

It's been almost 50 years since the uprise of democracy in Panem, and I still get the occasional weathered civilian stopping me on the street, raising a shaky hand to my face and examining me intently for minutes until they finally ask if I'm really the son of Peeta and Katniss. I wear a proud smile as I respond, and wait for the usual remark about my father's looks, my mother's eyes, how proud they are. That was one thing I never understood…the residents of 12 were genuinely proud of me, though I had never accomplished any feat of my own. They were proud of my parent's ability to survive and procreate…not for any particular deed of my own.

Lost in my thoughts, my foot caught on a protruding root and my body surged forwards, and I caught myself at the last minute before my momentum sent me hurdling to the ground. I inwardly cursed inheriting my father's heavy foot, regained my composure and continued forward. Suddenly, the heavy forest air around me was cut by a high-pitched giggle. The delicate sound was soon marred as a giggle formed into a cackle.

I whipped my head around, my grown-out blonde curls sweeping across my face. I pushed them out of the way and saw a girl, no older than me, crouched in a low branch of a nearby maple tree. Her body was doubled over in laughter, but her attire caught my eye—she wore tight dark jeans and a white lacey shirt, her curvy figure enhanced by a dark leather corset laced with green vines. She calmed herself down enough to raise her head, showing faintly red locks falling to her shoulders and light blue eyes, still creased from laughter. "You fell."

"Where the hell did you come from?" I asked, not bothering to mention that I hadn't actually fallen. However, you wouldn't know that by the intensity of her laughter.

Her cackle filled the air again, a harshly contradictory sound from her delicate features. "I've been here, smart one." She rested her eyes downwards, examining her nails. I sighed, becoming increasingly agitated with both my confusion with the girl and her lack of initiative to enlighten me.

"Who are you, then?" I asked. She looked up at me, acting legitimately startled that I was still there.

"Oh, me? Ivy. Ivy Harper. Ivy _Alexandra_ Harper," she stated, contorting her body into a heroic stance before jumping down from the branch.

"Fancy that," I said, the words emerging slightly more scathing than intended. She arched an eyebrow at me.

"Temper, darling, temper," she mimicked my tone. "And who might you be?"

That caught me off guard. As a spitting image of my father, I tended to be well known around District 12. She snorted in amusement. "Just kidding. Sir Drew Ashburn Mellark." She looked me up and down, making my cheeks flush slightly. "You look different."

I shot her a quizzical look. "As opposed to…"

"When you were fat."

My face reddened deeper, and as a defensive reply was forming on my lips, confusion emerged in my mind. "Have I met you?"

"Not formally, I don't suppose. Consider me an admirer from afar." Something about the tone in her voice ensured that her words shouldn't be interpreted as flirtation. Not that they would be, anyways. Her manner towards me was a little to insulting to be considered amorous.

"Are you from 12?" I asked, not bothering to be concerned by her knowledge of me.

She twirled the vines holding her corset up. "From 8, technically." I could have guessed. The lace falling over her shoulders held the distinct needlework of the district. "But someone here needed me."

Before I had the chance to inquire, another girl dropped from the same tree, hitting the ground hard and falling backwards into the dirt. Ivy let out another cackle, and the other girl joined in with a similarly contradictory laugh. She stood up, brushing herself off, and revealed a tall, thin figure artfully decorated with District 8's distinctive fabrics. She wore a short gray dress, sheer lace roses creeping their way up to her neckline. Her tanned legs reached a long distance down to the ground where her bare feet traced nervous circles in the dirt. My eyes darted back to her face, where shifting hazel eyes lined by delicate black makeup refused to meet mine. Her light brown hair was streaked blond by the sun and fell in a very short, layered style, her bangs sweeping all the way across her forehead.

She glanced up at me, looking back down quickly once she realized my eyes were on her as well. Ivy let out a laugh. "You awkward child. Say hello, darling."

She shot a slight smile at me, forcing herself to make eye contact. "I'm Charlotte. Charlotte Eden."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This one's short, but more soon. Review, please :3**

Chapter Two

Charlotte. Her name embodied her, seemingly old-fashioned and delicate. It was much like Ivy's name embodied her; beautiful and intriguing, but with a sharp, poisonous sting. Charlotte's eyes retreated to their home on the ground beneath her once more, and I wondered if her disposition was derived from natural shyness or something deeper.

Ivy had made her way back to her tree branch, propping herself up comfortably and studying her nails once more. Charlotte shot her a desperate look, willing her back to her side. I remembered Ivy saying she moved to 12 because Charlotte needed her, and that fact was becoming abundantly clear. Even her body seemed to function differently without her near. Charlotte's face flushed a deep pink, and she bent her fingers back nervously, sending an array of cracking sounds through the forest air. "We're both from 8, originally. We've been neighbors since we were 3. So when I told her I was running away, she pretty much had to come with me." She let out an airy laugh.

"You're my spirit animal." Said Ivy, and a genuine smile spread across Charlotte's face as she let out a suppressed form of Ivy's telltale cackle.

"Why would you run away from 8? I thought they had nearly finished the reconstruction there." I said. My heart sunk. "What's going on there?"

The two's eyes met simultaneously. Ivy spoke up. "Everything's fine in 8. But there are rumors."

"About District 2." Charlotte added.

Silence filled the air, as if they were waiting for me to inquire. But Ivy sliced through the quiet air bluntly. "There's going to be an uprising."

I felt the color drain from my face. Charlotte began to fiddle with her hands again, as if she was coping with the news all over again. A thousand questions came to mind, but Ivy was quick to enlighten. "We researched and Two was always closest with the Capitol. That was where all the Peacekeepers came from, you know." I nodded. As the son of famous rebellion leaders, my parents were sure to make me knowledgeable on the subject. "Well, it started out small, a few people getting together and discussing the problems with democracy, how it was better with the Capitol in complete control. Obviously, these were the people who reaped the benefits of the Capitol before."

"So more and more people in Two were siding with the old ways. Getting angry with the democracy. There were a few riots, but they were extinguished before anyone even knew about them. But it's just starting. The rumor is that they're plotting an uprising." Ivy's bright blue eyes met mine, gauging my reaction. The information hit me hard.

My parents risked everything they had to reform Panem and break the Capitol. I didn't know all of the gory details, but I'd seen the scars my mother wears like jewelry. I'd watched my father cling suddenly onto the kitchen table, shut his eyes tight, and make his body go rigid until whatever nightmare inside of his mind had subsided. I'd heard screams break the night silence, falter into sobs and only quiet under the soft, shaky melody of an old, familiar tune. It was enough to know that Panem couldn't fall again.

My palms began to sweat thinking about it. "So why are you here?"

"We need to stop this before it spreads," said Charlotte.

"And to be honest, you're the most powerful face in Panem." Ivy flashed me a bright grin.

My image to extinguish an uprising? In District 2? "I can't change anything from 12 without starting a panic."

Charlotte tore her shimmering hazel eyes from the ground to meet mine. "That's why you'll come with us."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Revised this chapter sorry! Read and review :3**

Chapter Three

My head spun. Anxiety forced its way through my veins and pumped throughout every inch of my body. I managed to utter out, "What?"

Ivy dropped down from the tree, relieving Charlotte of her verbal duties. She let out an audible breath of relief, as if speaking to me put her under insufferable stress. The deep pink drained from her cheeks, but she continued to play with her fingers, glancing around the surrounding forest and directing her focus to a nearby songbird. "If you don't go to the rebellion, it's going to come to you. These things spread fast, like wildfire. If we have a strong image against the uprising…there's a chance to stop it." Ivy said, her crystal blue eyes piercing deep into mine.

I tore my eyes away from hers, seeking comfort in Charlotte's songbird. As if sensing the severity of the situation, it chirped a low note and fluttered away, leaving me to face the dilemma at hand. Of course, knowledge of the uprising disturbed me. It left a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach, like the riots were not halfway across Panem, but personified, lurking behind me, breathing down my neck and whispering dark threats. An involuntary shiver traced its way down my spine.

I snapped myself out of my mental haze and glanced at the girls. They stood hand in hand, Charlotte meeting my eyes for an accidental moment. She fiddled with the hem of her dress, nervously awaiting my reaction. Ivy looked at me, mentally urging me to say something. Instead I looked up, observing the darkened sky breaking through the canopy of trees above us. The stars pushing their way through the deep blue of the sky reminded me of my parents, and my sister, Melody, awaiting my return home.

"I need to get home." I said, averting my eyes to avoid the shock and disappointment on their faces. Ivy let out an exasperated sigh.

"We came all the way from District 8." She said, her face showing the first legitimate look of exhaustion I had seen from either of them. "Hear us out."

"I need to see my family." I said, definitively. She sighed again, clearly aggravated, and walked back to her tree and swinging up into the lowest branch. Charlotte glanced back at me quickly before joining her, clumsily pulling herself up onto a neighboring branch and swaying her feet back and forth.

An immense amount of guilt accumulating in my being, I turned on my heels and began home. When I was out of view of the girls, I returned to tracing the tree roots in my path with my feet, allowing myself to escape into the haze of my subconscious. The news of the uprising still left a corrosive feeling in the pit of my stomach, tearing away at me little by little.

My clouded mind travelled back seven years, when I was ten, and only beginning to understand the world apart from the fantasy swirling in my mind. My logical brain was only starting to outgrow my massive imagination. As I passed through the kitchen to get to my room, I saw my father swoop quickly down into a chair and grasp his head between his hands, as if physical force was required to keep his skull intact. He began to tremble; low, gravely words escaped his lips in broken whispers. A loud groan escaped him, saturated in pain.

Terrified, I ran to my sister's room, forcing the door open and ignoring her protests to my entry. When she saw the horror written across my face, she whipped off her headphones and ordered me to sit down. I took a cautious seat on her bed. "Mom and Dad are very special people," she began.

She told me that Panem wasn't always as peaceful as it was now, that cruel people ran the country and forced children from the districts to fight in games to the death. I shook my head, starting to interrupt, but naturally she told me to shut up and proceeded. "One year, Mom and Dad were chosen from District 12. They pulled strings and managed to both survive, but they had to see terrible things during the games, and they can't forget it. When Dad shuts down or when mom screams at night, it's them remembering the games."

The information shocked me, not only because of the eye-opener about my parents, but because only a matter of decades ago the world was so unimaginably sickening. They didn't even tell me about the Quarter Quell or the rebellion until a few years later. And now, there was an uprising to bring Panem back to the place that broke the strongest people in my life.

I hadn't walked for more than a minute before I heard the soft crunch of twigs behind me. "Wait, Drew, just…wait…"

I spun around to see Charlotte approaching me, taking careful steps to ensure her bare feet remained unscathed by the weathered ground. She came up close to me, so that I could see the red flushing within her complexion and her left eye twitch ever so slightly. She met my eyes for a split second before closing them and throwing her arms around my neck.

She held me close, and I could feel the heat radiate off of her tanned skin. She gave off slight tremors, like a frightened animal, and some nurturing instinct within me compelled me to close my arms around her as well. Though confusion raced through my mind, I held on until her shaking ceased.

She pulled away, looking at me straight on, a desperate look in her black-lined eyes. "Just think about it. Please."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: A chapter every day. Can you tell I'm on spring break? R&R :)**

Chapter Four

Her fragile nature tugged at something in my heart, and I nodded, watching her as she wrapped her arms around her stomach soothingly. She shot me a slight smile before a look of pain crossed her delicate features and she turned around, heading back to Ivy.

The severity of her social anxiety perplexed me, intrigued me. She seemed unable to function without Ivy's aid. It reminded me of a documentary we read in school once, about identical twins who only spoke to each other, depended on each other for survival and happiness. But Ivy seemed content to interact on her own, without the intervention or help of anyone. I got the impression she was a bit of a social butterfly in her home district. But still, she held Charlotte's hand and coaxed her through the simplest of social conventions. The bond was beyond my comprehension.

I reached the disabled electric fence, now stripped of its barbed wire. With expert ease, I jumped, taking hold of the top of the fence and walked myself up, flipping myself over and landing in complete silence. By the darkness of the sky I judged it was around 10 pm, and about half an hour past my curfew.

I jogged my way through the remaining few blocks, working up a slight sweat to make it appear that I had tried to make it home on time. When I opened the door, my mother was waiting on the couch, curled up contentedly in my father's arms. I judged from her glistening forehead and colorless face that she had just awoken from one of her night terrors. Guilt panged within me.

Instead of yelling, my father turned his head slowly so as to not disturb my mother. He looked at me, speaking low. "You're late."

I sighed. "I know, I'm sorry. I lost track of the time."

He shrugged, never the kind to enforce anything strictly. "Try to pay more attention, alright?" He nodded his head towards my mother, her eyes half shut as she straddled the lines between the real world and the dream world. "She worries."

More guilt swirled in my stomach. "I know. I will, I promise." He nodded and smiled slightly, knowing that I meant it. He swept my mother up into his arms with ease, murmuring something into her ear before nodding me a goodnight and retreating to their room.

I sighed, shaking the sight of my mother's fragile state out of my mind, and walked into the kitchen, only now realizing the hunger panging in my stomach. I flung open a cupboard, breathing an exasperated sigh at the poor choice of options. I heard a maniacal giggle behind me.

I spun around quickly, only to see my sister, Melody, sitting in her pajamas, perched on the kitchen counter. At 19, she was still only 5 foot five, and able to crouch comfortably on the surface. Then, I saw what she was holding…a delectable slice of layered chocolate cake from our father's bakery.

"Oh, _hell_ no, Melody," I started, lunging for it. She expertly blocked my grab, catching me in the throat with her forearm, extending the delicacy out of my reach. "You ate the last piece last time."

She gave me an evil grin, one I had come to fear. "Who is she?"

"What? Who is…what are you talking about?" I asked, blood rushing to my cheeks even though I had nothing to hide. My throat began to ache from the impact against her arm, so I backed away, in time for her to grab a fork and shove a greedy bite into her mouth. Jealousy coursed through my veins.

She swallowed. "The one who wears lavender perfume. Who is she?"

I remembered Charlotte's embrace, but I had assumed the aroma came from the surrounding wildflowers. I sighed. "They're just friends."

Her navy eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hand, letting out a snort. "_They?"_

Dammit.

While I struggled to the right words to explain, she downed another bite. "Slut!" she sang through a mouth full of chocolate.

"Shut up, Mel, it's not like that," I said, giving up on ever getting the cake.

"Uh, huh. Sure."

I rolled my eyes and closed the cupboard, since now any option was repulsive in comparison to chocolate cake, now vanished from the plate and smeared across Melody's face. I turned around and headed to my room, her demonic giggles fading with distance.

I shut the door, stripped down to my boxers, and collapsed onto my bed, welcoming the cool feel of the sheets. My skin burned.

I shut my eyes, an immediate slideshow of the day's event passing beneath my eyelids. Ivy cackling at me, twirling the vines across her midsection. Her piercing eyes looking straight into me, Charlotte's retreating to the ground. The feel of her tremble against me.

I wondered if they would be there tomorrow, if I wandered back into the forest after running my mother's errands. If they'd tell me more about the uprising, tell me what I needed to do, train me. I drifted to sleep in a mental cloud of lavender perfume.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I was forced up early, awoken by the sunlight breaking through the blinds and hitting me in the eyes with sharpshooter precision. I cursed the early hour, burying my face deep within the soothing dark of my comforter. But the morning sun had warmed up my brain and thoughts of the uprising now pounded wearily through it.

Without much of a choice at this point, I dragged myself up to a technically sitting position. I sat there motionless for a minute, dreading the next step. With a groan, I pulled myself up onto my feet.

I shuffled to my closet, my groggy mind suddenly concerned with the day's fashion choice. Weird. It was probably due to the intensely chic nature of the girls' attire. Far out of my area of expertise, I threw on an undershirt and a light blue button-up shirt, hoping the color would contrast with the gray of my eyes. Or something.

I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows and made my way to my dresser, throwing open the bottom drawer and deciding on dark wash jeans. Light shirt meant dark jeans, right? Or was I supposed to match? Whatever. Dark sounded right.

I slipped on a pair of Vans (surprisingly, the longest running company in Panem history) and studied my reflection in the mirror. I cocked my head to the side, only now seeing how long my blonde curls had grown out. I decided to get my father to trim them soon.

Content with my appearance and finally waking up a little, I slipped out of my room and into the kitchen, where the smell of strong coffee greeted me. I breathed in the glorious aroma, and my father chuckled.

I looked up to see him at the coffee maker, my mother sitting eagerly on the other side of the counter. She spent the first ten years of my life pretending she hated the stuff, but now she lived by a caffeine-jumpstarted routine, accompanied by two creams and three teaspoons of sugar. It was sweet enough to make you sick.

"'Morning," I mumbled, my eyes perking at the steaming mug in front of me—black, but with a pinch of sugar. I took a sip, instantly jolted awake by the delightful bitterness tracing its way down my throat.

"Good morning, Drew," said my mother, shivering as she took the first sip of her dreadful concoction. She closed her eyes and smiled in delight. "I need you to go to the Market for me today. We're out of…food."

I remembered the practically bare cabinets last night, and rolled my eyes. But my annoyance with my parents was quickly replaced by adrenaline. I could see if Ivy and Charlotte were still there.

"He needs to come into the bakery," my father said. "We have an order for a wedding cake."

"How long?" I asked, trying not to sound too eager to get out of it.

He thought. "An hour. I'll pay you."

Fair enough. "Alright, I'll go into the bakery for an hour and then go down to the Market." And then meet the girls. "Sound good?"

I walked down to the bakery, only a few blocks away from our home, going in through the back door to avoid the obnoxious chime of the bells my father insisted on keeping above the main entrance. He met me in the back and threw me my apron. "Suit up."

I threw it around me, tying it loosely behind my back so as not to wrinkle my shirt. He brought out two relatively small, round tiers, one obviously meant to sit atop the other. "This one," he gestured to the smaller of the two, "needs a layer of bright rose fondant. Line the borders with white frosting and edible pearls. Put a lavender bow around the sides and dust it in silver shimmer."

"This is a wedding cake?" I asked, making an involuntary face at the tackiness.

"Just wait." He chuckled. He pointed at the larger tier. "This one needs a layer of soft gray fondant. Frosting in jet black, pointed loops."

The contrast was shocking. "I think the bride is manic."

He laughed. "Some would argue that about Effie."

I smiled. "So Haymitch finally tied the knot?" The two were family friends, and the cutest, most peculiar elderly couple in the district.

"It only took him 20 years. But you know Haymitch." He patted me on the back and left the decorating station to work on the other tiers.

I rolled out the fondant, inducing myself into what I refer to as an Artist's Coma. I started on Effie's tier, knowing I should exhaust the current surplus of artistic enzymes building up in my blood. I covered the cake, trimmed the edges, and got to work on the icing, allowing my mind to slip away as it often did while I was decorating.

When I broke out of my artistic haze, I looked down to notice that I had finished both tiers. I hardly remembered doing it. I inspected my work, making sure that my distracted mind hadn't produced something inadequate. But, sure enough, every iced line laid perfectly, and even Effie's bow fell with perfect folds and creases. I smiled. Thank you, Artist's Coma.

I checked the clock in the front of the shop, confirming that I had completed the task in half an hour, leaving thirty minutes I needed to waste to ensure I got paid for a full hour. Suddenly, an idea sprung to my mind, and I grabbed two miniature un-iced yellow cakes from the display case.

I brought them back to the decorating station and got straight to work, dirty icing the first with white buttercream frosting and putting down a layer of off-white lace fondant. I covered the entire cake with deep green ivy vines, swirling together and entangling into hopeless knots atop the delicate background. I layered the second with chocolate frosting and dark gray fondant, pressing lavender lace onto the dark canvas. I topped it with delicate, soft gray roses.

I examined my work, pleased with the embodiment of the girls' characters within the delicacies. I glanced up at the clock, seeing that my hour was officially up. I balanced the cakes on either of my palms and called to my father. "I'm done! Tiers are on the table, I'm going to the Market." I slipped out the back door before I heard his response.

I walked briskly to the woods, jogging through the street, the two cakes balanced precariously on my upturned palms. I swore aloud when I reached the chain link fence. This was a flawed plan.

For about five minutes, I awkwardly shifted my body to different positions, mentally debating on how to climb a fence without hands. Then, logic set in, and I realized that was impossible. With a sudden spark of brilliance, I found a flat piece of wood and set the cakes on top, using one hand to balance the makeshift tray and the other to aid me in my climb.

Once I was over the obstacle, I jogged as quickly as I could through the forest without losing my center of balance. I reached where I had met the girls, and my heart fell. They were nowhere in sight. I groaned loudly, making no effort to conceal my profanities.

Suddenly, I heard a light noise above me. Which, naturally, quickly morphed into a horrifying screech: "Shut. The HELL UP!"


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello darlings! Since spring break is now over I won't be able to update as often now, but thanks for sticking with the story! I have a lot more planned for the story, and I know the last chapters have been kinda slow but please keep reading; it's going to get more interesting. Please review!**

Chapter Six

I looked up, spotting Ivy in a branch about ten feet above my head. She violently untied the rope securing her to the tree and dropped to the ground in a huff. "Have you ever," she began, sleep and rage festering in her eyes, "slept in a tree? It sounds great, right? No, actually, it's terrible. I have had four hours of sleep. And then you," she lazily pointed a finger into my chest, "come here and ruin it. Why?"

I smile despite her charged words, just excited that she was there. "I have cake," I said, extending her personalized delicacy. Her sleep deprived eyes widened, and she eagerly took it, taking off a piece with her fingers and eating it slowly, her heavy eyelids sliding shut in delight.

She sat on the ground, her mind encased in a whirlwind of frosting and fondant. He chuckled right as he saw Charlotte drop down from her branch, again falling hard on her ankles and stumbling backwards. Apparently before their trek, the girls had the common sense to bring pajamas with them, because she was stripped of her chic dress and now wore a gray t-shirt and obnoxiously blue sleeping shorts. Her legs were covered by polka-dotted knee high socks. I stifled a laugh.

She squinted away from the sun and looked at me, her eyes suddenly widening. "Oh, Drew…you're back." The words were probably intended to sound excited, but sleep swirled around her and muffled her voice.

I shrugged. "Of course." I handed her the cake, and her eyes lit up.

"Did you make this?" she asked, her voice still husky. She looked at it in admiration.

"Mhm," I mumbled, growing slightly embarrassed.

"I love it." Her tired voice faded to barely above a whisper. Her fingers traced against the gray fondant. "This is my favorite color."

I smiled as she pinched off a piece and ate it greedily, delight spreading across her features. This was the most I had ever heard her say; I almost wished it wasn't cut off short now that her mind was occupied. I wasn't sure if her fatigue had temporary lowered the walls around her or if she was beginning to warm up to me, but I liked hearing her voice, especially damped with the grogginess of sleep.

When I glanced at her again, the cake had miraculously transformed into a mere scatter of crumbs and a thin strip of lace. How long had it been since she'd eaten? I had noticed her frail figure before, but without the shield of her dress I could see how her hip bones jutted out, how you could practically count her ribs through her t-shirt. As she handed me the platter, her hands shook. "Thank you. It was delicious."

"Consider it a peace offering," I said. She looked up at me. "I'm on your side."

She gave me an unsure look. "You'll help us? You're going to travel halfway across Panem to stop the uprising?"

"I have to."

She nodded sadly, her eyes floating to the ground. She looked back at Ivy, who now slumped against the tree stump, her red hair disheveled and her eyes peacefully closed. She wore a dreamy smile, her platter empty next to her. My eyes travelled over her figure, her pajamas clinging to her curves and resting perfectly against her hourglass figure. I wondered how she could maintain such a healthy body while Charlotte's bones protruded and her hands shook violently at the simplest attempts of motion.

"Have you ever acted?" she asked.

"Never tried," I said. Well, unless you counted feigning interest in the countless people who stopped me in the streets. You would have thought I was a victor from all the attention I received, and sometimes took intense efforts to seem intrigued by their tales of the past.

"Ivy can teach you," she said. "She's talented like that."

"Good at acting?"

"Good at everything." She laughed nervously, her eyes emotionless, set on the ground. I could tell I struck a nerve, so I quickly switched my focus.

"How did you survive all this way?" I asked. "District 8 isn't necessarily a quick stroll away. If we're going to make it to District 2 on foot, we need some serious supplies, right?"

"Yeah, it took a lot of planning. Two months," she said. Her voice shook.

My stomach turned. "So District 2 has been in unrest for a while."

She nodded sadly, anxiously playing with her fingers.

I studied her frantic state, free to stare since her eyes were occupied by the ground anyways. She sat still, excluding her fingers, which danced in a nervous tango around each other, one bending the other back in an expert dip until tension released in a sickening crack. Her sun-kissed face was reduced to a sickly shade of white, and restless blood flushed to her cheeks in a spectrum of magenta. Her arms rested in a mosaic pattern, geometric shapes created by a tangle of blood vessels pushing their way to the surface.

For once I felt Charlotte's unease was in line with the situation. I felt my own heart rate quicken as I turned the conflict over in my mind, and I glanced at Ivy, wondering how her thoughts allowed her to stay calm enough for sleep to be conceivable. I supposed that throughout the warped sleeping schedule a runaway must live by, exhaustion was too must of an opposing factor.

I glanced back at Ivy, noticing how her eyelids had fluttered shut, exposing both her sharply applied eyeliner and her extreme fatigue. Her fingers trembled as they danced around each other. Pity panged deep within me, and without thinking, words escaped my lips.

"Have you ever slept in Victor's Village?"


End file.
